My annual gig at the fair is over. Attendance was small, and I blame the weather for that. I was joined by my son, Matthew, playing his string bass for my kind of music: songs of the 1920s, when the music at least was a lot gentler and innocent, even if other things weren’t, what with Prohibition and speakeasies and flappers in vogue.
I want to apologize to several people who came up to me afterward, while Matthew and I were too busy to stop and talk, moving our stuff off the stage to make room for the next act. We aren’t a popular enough act to be able to afford roadies to do it for us. I can always be contacted at the email address at the end of this column, or at (360) 736-7211.
Changing the subject, I feel thankful that The Chronicle finds room for these words of mine, even though they’re often more liberal than the management might wish. I don’t often agree with our former sheriff unless he’s specifically talking about law and order, but he touched on a point Saturday that I’d like to expand even further than he did.
I feel as if I may have said all this before, but it’s something that wouldn’t be hurt by repeating.
I’m referring to the individuals who appear capable of working, but who prefer to ask us for handouts instead. I don’t mean to include those who are incapable of work, either physically or mentally, but only those who have chosen not to. And I don’t even mean scam artists who at least give us a show for our money.
After I stood next to my small pickup in Safeway’s filling station and realized I was poorer by $5, I had to smile, because it was done so smoothly. Same thing goes for the young couple I once gave $10 to, after their flawless performance as a weeping young mother being comforted by an equally young father, ostensibly stranded in Centralia. It was equal to any performance at the Evergreen Playhouse.
Is there something that can be done? Well, you have to be pretty old by now if you remember any family that was saved from starvation by the WPA. Sure, it was a handout by the federal government but it was returned in the form of work of many kinds by the recipient.
Much of it was pick and shovel work, but many public buildings were also built, and artistic endeavors were subsidized as well. Take a look at the mural in the Centralia Post Office. Playwrights were subsidized, Orson Wells formed The Mercury Playhouse, and even a comedy radio series “Duffy’s Tavern” had its roots in the WPA.
True, pay was miniscule, usually $60 per month, but that was when rent was only $15, bread cost a nickel a loaf (as did a glass of beer). WPA operated a little bit like the proverbial “poor farm,” where people of any age could exchange their labor for a place to sleep and eat, but with much less stigma connected with it.
Today politicians have created unemployment checks with no compensation required in exchange for a few more votes for their re-election. They’ve also included outright payment to unwed mothers when instead they should be providing child care and requiring some labor in return. Oh, I’ll catch hell for that one!
You never thought you’d see such radical thoughts from someone you consider to be a left wing, bleeding heart liberal, did you?
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Bill Moeller is a former entertainer, mayor, bookstore owner, city council member, paratrooper and pilot living in Centralia. He can be reached at bookmaven321@comcast.net.
